Staying Awake
by thecouchcarrot
Summary: Sequel to my one-shot "Waking Up"; Dean's dreams and their consequences. Dean/Cas. Now Complete! Ch. 4: Dean walked warily through the empty corridors of the old house, shining his flashlight down the hallway. "Cas?" he called. He couldn't find Cas.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: _So. Um. That last story, Waking Up, was like a scab; I couldn't leave it alone. I really, really wanted to, because I never write angsty stuff and I thought it hit a nice chord and didn't need further elaboration. However... I ended up writing this, very late at night and very spur of the moment. I didn't add it as a second chapter because I DO want to keep the integrity of it as a one-shot. So, this is my sequel, and it's pretty much the same flavor as the last one. I hope it doesn't suck. If you think it doesn't suck, puh-LEASE let me know in the reviews. If it does suck, then... um... review, but keep your review short. I feel it only takes a sentence or two to convey a story's level of suckitude. _

_ANYways, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy! _

* * *

Dean stared at the television set, trying to focus his eyes on the late-night infomercial. The oily salesman kept pitching the low, low price, and the pretty blonde kept chirping about how easy to use the Turbo Chopper was._ Does it work on vampires?_ an old part of him quipped.

He hated that part.

The weights on his eyelids dragged heavier and heavier, and his mind drifted into soft curious musings about that blonde and what she looked like under that fugly green apron. Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifted, the faintest breeze brushing over his skin.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth._ "_I'm awake, I'm awake, I'm awake," he muttered.

"No you're not."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, every part of him tensed and wound tight like a coiled spring. "Go away."

Cas, being the bastard he was, just stared at him. He could feel it. He could feel that goddamn stare from a hundred yards.

"I'm really not in the mood, Cas." He chuckled bitterly, dull and hollow. "I've got a headache."

Cas's gravelly voice was flat and cold. "Then why are we here?"

Dean shook his head, a sarcastic sneer forming on his lips. "I don't know, dude, you're the angel, you tell me –" and then he opened his eyes.

They were in a dingy motel room. Dean was sitting on the edge of a queen bed, Cas was standing next to him, and lying unconscious on the other queen bed… was Cas.

Another Cas.

Dean stood, knowing consciously that he should feel much more disturbed than he felt. Instead, he felt – removed. An observer. He approached the dream Cas.

It was imperfect. Some parts, the parts that Dean had studied before, were absolutely correct; the way his dark black hair looked pushed back from his forehead, the way the edge of his mouth tugged downwards when he was in pain, the way his fingers curled slightly inwards towards his palms when he lost consciousness. Other things were wrong. His trenchcoat was a slightly wrong shade of tan, his skin a little paler, his blood a little brighter. His blood – he was bleeding at the temple and crimson stains pooled on his shirt. Besides all these minor details, the imitation Cas lacked a certain… something. A realness. A solidity. Nonetheless, he could feel himself succumbing to the dream as certain emotions took hold against his will.

"Your subconscious seems to have replaced me," Cas noted icily behind him. "Apparently, you prefer me beaten and broken."

"Shut up," Dean snapped, his fingers trembling and stretching out to Cas's neck. The dread and horror was creeping up his spine, clawing at his belly, squeezing at his throat.

Cas stepped closer. "What, Dean?" he demanded. "You expect me to be silent? You think I'll stand and watch while you dream that I –"

"Shut up, you fuck," Dean rasped. "This isn't a dream. This is a _nightmare_."

And that shut him up.

The door slammed open, and Sam barged into the room, sopping wet and with an obvious limp in his gait. "This is all we've got," he gasped. He dumped a pile of bandages on the floor next to the plastic medical kit.

Even though Dean knew it was fake, he_ knew_ it, he couldn't help but respond. "We've got to get him to the hospital," he barked hoarsely.

Sam's eyes were big and wide and pleading and pained. "There's no way – there's just no way we can move him, Dean."

A quick glance showed that he was right; there was too much blood, everywhere, all over. It was pouring out of Cas and dripping down the comforter, puddling on the carpet. The terror shot straight to Dean's heart, pumping it faster than he thought possible.

"Dean." That voice behind him, quiet but firm. "Look at me."

Dean stared at that corpse on the bed, still and cold and empty.

"No, look at _me_." A hand gripped his shoulder and spun him around.

Dean stood nose to nose with Cas, the _real_ Cas, unbloodied and so goddamn _there_ in a way that nothing his mind fabricated could ever be. A real hand clenched his arm, and the opposite hand clasped onto the side of his neck, steadying him and ensuring that he really was looking at the son of a bitch.

"Take us to Bobby's," Cas commanded. And boy, was it weird as hell that Dean was the one expected to magically teleport them.

It worked, though, somehow. Dean knew Bobby's place, inside and out, and his subconscious replica was picture perfect. They stood alone, in a cluttered living room that said sanctuary to Dean like nowhere else did, and a relieving calm washed over him.

"I'm sorry I misjudged you," Cas apologized in a low voice.

"You seem to do that a lot," Dean remarked.

Something like humor was gathering in those blue eyes. "I was never a good judge of character."

And in a flicker of a moment Dean was vividly aware of the warm hand still on his neck, and the fingers still pressing into his bicep. He closed his eyes momentarily, took a deep breath, and shrugged out of Cas's grip. "I meant what I said earlier, Cas. I can't do this anymore." He wandered over to an end table and picked up a book, flipping through it.

Cas stood stiff as a mannequin.

The book was Hop on Pop. For some reason, some part of Dean was sad about that.

"Why." It wasn't a question.

Dean couldn't explain what happened in the next few minutes, except for what everyone already knows: in dreams, emotions are volatile and capricious and powerful. Something in Cas's tone set off something deeply rooted in Dean, igniting and engulfing him, and he whirled on Cas and attacked like a provoked dog.

"Why do you think?" he snarled, dropping the book and grabbing Cas by the lapels. "I never wanted this, Cas! You keep showing up in my head uninvited, like you have some kind of goddamn _right!"_ He shook Cas for extra measure, then thrust him away hard enough to make him stumble. He marched forward to close the new space between them and poked a finger into Cas's chest. "You made your choices. You chose your loyalties. If you wanted to stick around then you damn well could've but you _didn't_ and I've _moved on_, pal. I don't need a sidekick, I don't need a stalker, and I don't need _you!_"

Cas's eyes flashed and his brow darkened. He grabbed Dean's wrist and jerked his finger away from his chest. "You think I want this?" he bit sharply. "You think this is something that the throne of heaven looks kindly upon? I am not your 'pal', Dean, and neither am I your lackey. I am an angel of the Lord, a warrior of heaven, and I have taken on a mantle far greater than any responsibility that you can fathom. The _last thing_ I need is some twisted, corrupted – _thing_ with a twisted, corrupted human!"

"Then we're agreed!" Dean shouted angrily. "This shit is OVER!"

"_Over_," Cas hissed.

They scowled at one another, the room almost seeming to pulsate with tension.

And then Dean's mouth was on Cas's mouth and his hands were roaming over him, all over him, and holy shit it was like the best thing in the world that had ever happened.

...

What seemed like hours later, they collapsed beside each other, and shared a quiet minute of companionable silence.

Cas's fingertips brushed against Dean's elbow. "Tell me where you are," he murmured.

Dean exhaled, the weight of the world slowly building back up onto his shoulders. For a long, quavering moment, that old, weak part of him that he hated almost gave in; that small part of him almost surrendered to the deep longing in his heart to regain a piece of who he used to be, the hidden desire to be the Dean that Sam had known and loved.

Almost.

"No."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:_ Aaaaah! This keeps getting longer and longer. It's all you guys' fault, by the way. You guys write me these lovely reviews and then I want to write more. To be fair, I had planned to continue this, but... I dunno, I guess I thought I'd tack some ending on sloppily. Now I care about this story and the quality of the arc, and for that I blame you. You make me want to write you something not just adequate, but_ good_. Please review and let me know if I have succeeded in my quest for this chapter, or if I only achieved adequacy. Thanks so much to everyone who's already reviewed - I thought that if I wrote something that wasn't fluffy, no one would ever read it. You've proven me wrong. _

_Oh, and never fear, this isn't the end. I think I have one more chapter up my sleeve..._

* * *

The late afternoon sun shone over the park, filtering down through the trees in dusty golden beams. Ben pitched the ball to Dean with fierce concentration; Dean caught it, and made an exaggerated face of shocked pain, taking off his glove and blowing on his hand. Lisa laughed and smiled.

Suddenly a low voice growled in his ear. "I believe the term is 'busted.'"

Dean jolted awake.

He sucked in a gasp of air and flailed momentarily, then regained sensibility. It was a dream. It was a dream. He was here, in Lisa's room, in the dark, the window cracked to let in a sliver of warm summer night. Lisa was still fast asleep beside him, still breathing softly against his neck, her arm still draped across his back.

It was stifling in there.

Carefully, slowly, he extricated himself from her and tiptoed to the kitchen. He was familiar enough with her house to be able to navigate it in the dark; hell, he was familiar enough with _any _house to navigate it in the dark. Houses were more or less the same, more or less organized in recognizable patterns and floor plans. Now forests – in a forest you could get fucking _lost_.

He shook his head to clear away those pointless thoughts. He wasn't a guy who knew or cared about being able to track a creature through the woods in the dead of night. Not anymore. He just needed some air, just needed a glass of water. He stepped into the kitchen.

A silhouette leaned against the island.

No no no no no this was all wrong this was all wrong. He wasn't dreaming, he knew it, he was definitely awake right now, what the hell was going on –

"How long did you think it would take?" His voice was steely, hard. Not much different from his normal tone; only someone like Dean would've noticed the difference.

Unfortunately, not even Dean could understand what he was talking about. He stepped closer, tensed, ready for a swing. "How did you find me?" he demanded quietly, trying to keep his voice low.

"I stopped thinking like an angel." There was something in his bearing, in the way he held himself ramrod straight and fixed, that suggested he was just as on edge as Dean was. "I started thinking like a Winchester."

Dean squinted. "What the hell does that mean?"

Cas's face was obscured by darkness, turned away from the moonlit window. "I watched your dreams. I tracked down the people who appeared in them. Tonight, you dreamt of Lisa and Ben. It was only a matter of time."

"Only a matter of –" Dean strode towards him, incredulous, something tightening in his shoulders and his throat. "You leave them out of this, you hear me? Just because you like fucking around with my subconscious doesn't – "

Cas stepped forward, and suddenly his features were thrown into sharp relief by a pale shaft of light. His face was contorted with anger, clenched and furrowed and taut. And those piercing blue eyes –

It was all a little too real.

"Don't you _dare_," he interrupted, forceful and deliberate, his words so hoarsely raw that the hairs stood up on Dean's neck. "I have sacrificed too much and murdered too many in your name for you to – _cheapen_ me like that."

Something in Dean's chest ripped and tore. "Just – just leave them out of it," he whispered. "I'm beggin' you."

Cas's eyes never faltered from Dean's. "They're asleep. The will remain sleeping for some time – I've made sure of that." Then he turned his head towards the window, gazing out at the moon and illuminating his face.

He looked… defeated.

Dean's fingertips itched, but he ignored it. He was awake now. He could control himself. There was no excuse for his actions now.

"So," he began, "you know where I am." He leaned against the countertop, crossed his arms. "What now?"

"Now… I ask for an explanation." Cas's eyes remained fixed on some point outside the window.

Dean chuckled hollowly. "Sorry, but I'm fresh out." He ran a hand through his hair and scratched his neck. "I don't know why the hell my dreams are the way they are, Cas. When I'm awake, things are – different. I'm different. I'm not – I'm not the same man that…" He swallowed against the hard lump in his throat. "Anyways, I'm sorry if I – if I made you think that there was something here, but there's really. Not. I'm with Lisa now, and I'm…" His mouth tasted ashy around the word. "Happy."

Cas's eyes slid toward him, casting him a sideways glance. He didn't have to say the words for Dean to understand them: _You're full of shit_.

Which was true.

His eyes slid back to the night beyond. "That's something I've never understood about you, Dean."

Dean waited for an elaboration that never came. He decided he'd bite. "What?"

Cas turned to face him, with his whole body this time. "You act as though honesty is a weakness." His eyes narrowed disbelievingly as he peered at Dean. "As if sincerity is a last resort, when all else fails."

Dean struggled not to retort with a sarcastic joke, since it would only prove his point. "Is that all you want from me? You want sincerity?" he asked, even as a sardonic smirk pulled at his mouth. "You want honesty?"

"No." Cas slowly began closing the gap between them, infringing dangerously on Dean's personal space. "What I _want_ is something that you'll never give willingly. What I _demand_ is for you to stop lying to yourself, and stop lying to me."

Christ, Dean hadn't realized that even real Cas in his dreams was nothing compared to Cas in real life, and now he was a hair's breadth away, warm and tangible and goddamn irresistible. His whole body was practically vibrating in an effort to stay motionless, to keep from reacting in the way it desperately wanted to. He ducked his head and stared at the floor, refusing to give in to every fiber of his being that was screaming to act.

"You tried to stay hidden from me, Dean. You refused to tell me where you were, and I want to know why." Cas's gravelly voice was working under his skin; he was so close he could almost feel the growl in his chest. "I want you to look me in the eyes, and tell me truthfully…" His steady gaze burned on Dean's skin. "Why did you say no?"

Dean looked up, and into Cas's eyes.

He broke.

It wasn't like before – he just leaned in and pressed his lips to Cas's, soft and certain, felt Cas stiffen and then yield. But instead of satisfying him, it only intensified the hunger coiling in the pit of his stomach, sped up the blood racing through his veins, sent waves of tingling anticipation all through him. Before he realized it he had his hands clasped to Cas's waist and was grinding him into the island, deepening the kiss and involuntarily groaning because it felt so fucking _good._

Cas broke away from his lips with a gasp, clenching a fist in Dean's shirt. "You didn't answer my question," he panted.

"Didn't I?" Dean breathed, and then he slid his leg between Cas's and rolled his hips the way he'd done many times before.

"Ahhh – Deaan," Cas moaned, arching his neck back and clutching at Dean almost blindly, "Dean – "

"Because of this." He mouthed along Cas' neck, pushing the coat off of his shoulders impatiently. He was too far gone now. "Because - uunnghhh –" He interrupted himself with an embarrassingly needy sound as Cas's teeth teased along his collarbone. " – because you remind me who I used to be."

"No," Cas rasped harshly, shrugging off his coat and then grabbing Dean's shoulders and kissing him fiercely. He pulled back again and looked straight into Dean's eyes. "No. Because I remind you of who you _are_."

Dean tried to summon words, but couldn't. He kissed him again, forcing the conflicting emotions roiling inside him to the back burner. He unknotted Cas's tie and impatiently fumbled at his buttons, suddenly aware that Lisa and Ben were sleeping a few rooms over and needing this too much to stop.

"Dean," Cas panted, "leave her. Leave this place." And the unspoken plea: _Leave her for me_.

And Goddammit, Dean hated that fucking word by now, but it was the only answer he knew how to give these days.

"No."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: _Did I say this would be the last chapter? Well, I lied. Some stuff ended up taking longer to say. Sooooo... there's another chapter after this. But that one, _that_ one will be the last. Probably._

_Thank you all for your fabulous, awesome, wonderful reviews. I'm trying really hard to make this good for you. And it's the thought that counts, right? Isn't the road to heaven paved with good intentions? Anyways, I'd love it if you let me know how you feel about this chapter. I stayed up extra late to finish it for you! XOXOXO._

_Love, your friend thecouchcarrot. _

* * *

Dean's boss sauntered into his office and closed the door behind her, running a manicured hand along his desk. "Mr. Winchester," she began, her silky voice sharpened by a crisp British lilt, "I've come to evaluate you."

Dean's entire body came to attention.

You see, she wasn't an ordinary woman. Her light brown hair was always pulled back into a business-like bun, but her hazel eyes always hinted at something sultry, salacious, and entirely unprofessional. She had a sweet little ass filling out that pencil skirt, and the best tits this side of the Atlantic – and Dean was willing to bet they were the best on the other side, too, but he'd never been there himself.

Slowly she reached up, undid her bun, and shook out her hair, letting it settle into tousled layers and frame around her face. She arched one eyebrow. "Aren't you going to show me your work?"

In an instant, her legs were wrapped around Dean's waist as he kissed her passionately and hoisted her onto his desk. Office supplies clattered to the ground unnoticed. There was no beating around the bush here, no prelude; they both knew what she was here for. He aimed to please, and his aim was excellent.

Not that he wasn't enjoying this as much as she was, if not more so. She knew just the right way to gasp and moan to turn him on, knew just the right places to lick and bite and grind… Oh, God, it felt good. It felt unbelievably good.

But then something in the world shifted, and everything was just a little bit different. Now it was short, black hair that he was sliding his fingers through, yanking. Now it was wide blue eyes that were turning darker by the second. Now it was a white button-up that he was impatiently tearing open, and it revealed a hard, firm, _flat_ chest that he kissed along and caressed.

"Dean," Cas moaned, utterly wrecked, "Ohhh, Dean…"

"Cas," Dean gasped, fumbling at that damn belt buckle, kissing him again and again, interrupting only to suck in much-needed air. This had to be the best damn day ever.

But something was… missing. He couldn't put his finger on it.

Cas clawed at Dean's back, nipping at his neck and panting in his ear and babbling in Enochian.

Something was off. It felt awesome, but somehow – pale.

Like this moment was a cheap knockoff.

An echo of something _real_.

Something better.

_This is a just a dream_.

And everything he'd said and done to Cas came rushing back to him, and he understood with a swift and fucking painful disappointment that this wasn't Cas, not really. Cas wasn't ever coming back.

All of the sudden, Dean blinked and he wasn't in the office anymore. _Damn._

"What the HELL is wrong with you?" Sam bellowed, yanking Dean by the lapels and shaking him. "Are you out of your MIND?"

"Get your damn hands off me," Dean barked, jerking away indignantly and giving Sam a hard shove.

"Seriously, Dean!" Sam exclaimed, still incredulous. "You have a guy you desperately want to be with, who desperately wants to be with _you_, and you're keeping him at arm's length? _Why_? Because I told you to go to Lisa?"

"It has_ nothing_ to do with Lisa," Dean spat, glowering. "And just so you know, you forfeited the right to interfere in my life when you jumped in that hole."

Sam crossed his arms and gave him a pointed look. "If you really believed that, I wouldn't be here, would I?"

He had a point.

"Now." Sam plunked down into a ratty old chair and tucked back a strand of hair that had fallen into his face. "If it has nothing to do with Lisa, what _does _it have to do with?"

Dean bowed his head and turned away. He couldn't look at the kid right now – not when his eyes were getting itchy and his throat hoarse and it was getting just a little harder to breathe evenly. "Who do you think, Sam?"

Sam remained quizzically silent.

"You." A sliver of Sam reflected in the dressing table mirror, and Dean couldn't take his eyes off it. "It has to do with _you_."

Sam's pensive face went slack in surprise.

"Looking out for you, man – I told you. It's a part of who I am. And when you died – " Against Dean's will, dampness started to bead in his eyes.

"I burned all my old clothes, Sam," he explained, trying to keep steady, trying to keep himself together. "I pawned my guns and hatchets and crossbows. I tore up my IDs. I put the Impala in the garage." He licked his lips, closed his eyes, took in a shaky breath. "I can't be who I used to be, Sam, because I can't walk around with a big fucking hole in my chest. You gotta understand." And to his shame, at that moment his voice cracked. "I just. Can't."

Sam's eyes had gone all big and all too knowing. "And Cas is part of that. Part of your old life."

Dean wiped a hand down his face.

"You know that's bullshit, right?"

Dean spun around. "What?"

"That's bullshit." Sam stood up slowly, ready to defend his position. "Look, Dean, we both know you're dreaming right now. So when I'm talking, it's not really me talking, it's _you_ talking _through _me, alright?"

"And your point is?" Dean demanded.

"So pretending like you can forget about me by just – starting over? It's clearly not working." Sam stepped closer to him, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm always going to be a part of you, Dean. No matter how far you run, no matter how much you change, I'm always gonna be here."

And fuck it, that stupid hot dampness was welling up and spilling out of his eyes now. "No, Sammy," he croaked. "You're dead."

Sam's eyes were shiny and his nostrils flared, but a broken smile tugged across his features. "Only in the most technical sense," he joked.

Dean choked out a half-laugh, and shook his head. Death just didn't seem to stick to Winchesters. Usually.

They shared a moment of silence, and for a minute, Dean almost believed that bullshit line about, "as long as we remember them, they'll always be alive in our hearts," because for that minute his own projection of Sam was so damn near close to the real thing.

Close. But no cigar.

Finally he spoke again. "You're a moron, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, it takes one to know one." Sam squeezed his shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. "You know I'm right."

"Yeah, Sammy." He managed to pull his mouth into a bittersweet smile. "You always were the smart one."

Sam released his shoulder and turned to leave, and then hesitated. "Hey, Dean?"

He waited.

"It wasn't the same, was it?" he asked, looking reproachful. "Without him here."

Dean knew exactly what he was getting at. He shook his head ruefully, and admitted it to himself.

"No."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: _Alright, my lovelies. The very last chapter. It's been a joy to write for you guys again, and this little breather from my own work was nice and refreshing. However, I _do_ have to get my nose back to the grindstone, and every good thing must come to an end. I get the feeling from your reviews that you guys - for some reason - want Cas and Dean to end up together? Well, read on, and hopefully all your hopes and dreams will be fulfilled. _

_If your hopes and dreams are fulfilled, please please PLEASE review and tell me so. If your hopes and dreams are dashed upon the rocks and totally FUBAR*, please review and let me know so I can work on it for next time. If you read this chapter at all, _please review!

_Okay, I'm done now. Thanks again, guys, and on with the show! _

_*FUBAR stands for Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition, just so you know.  
_

* * *

Dean walked warily through the empty corridors of the old house, shining his flashlight down the hallway. "Cas?" he called.

He couldn't find Cas.

Up ahead, he saw a doorway leading into a black pit of a room. He approached it slowly, cautiously, all his hunting instincts screaming that something was waiting for him in the dark.

But he had to find Cas.

"Looking for something?"

Dean spun around.

Sam stood there, smirking coldly, his smile not reaching his eyes. "Oh, Dean. When will you learn?" And with that, he cast his hand out and slammed Dean into the wall.

"You're not Sam," Dean grunted, feeling the sweat gather on his brow as he struggled to move.

The devil wearing Sam's skin arched an eyebrow. "So you're not a complete moron. There may be hope for you yet." Then his jaw tightened determinedly, and slowly he clenched his hand into a fist. "Of course, not when I'm done with you."

Dean cried out in pain as his insides tried to become his outsides. Tangy, coppery blood bubbled up his throat and dribbled out of his mouth.

Lucifer clicked his tongue and shook his head ruefully. "I hate doing this to you, Dean. This hurts me more than it hurts you."

"I – highly – doubt that," Dean managed grind out.

He shrugged. "Fair enough." And he squeezed harder.

Dean screamed.

"You ready to play ball yet?" Lucifer asked. He was wearing Sam's most casual expression, like he really couldn't give a damn either way.

Dean sucked in as much air as he could for a minute, and then finally managed to groan, "Fffffuck! Yyyyy_you_!"

"Oh, I almost forgot!" He snapped his fingers.

Suddenly, Cas appeared in front of him, collapsing on the ground and curling up in the fetal position.

"Cas!" Dean cried. "Cas!"

Lucifer kicked Cas, and he let out a sharp yelp of pain.

"Sam," Dean sobbed, "you gotta stop… you gotta stop him…"

Lucifer smiled. "Sam's gone, Dean. For good. It's time you came to terms with that." He stepped close to Dean and grabbed him by the chin, tipping his head downwards and forcing him to meet his eyes. "Think of me as… your therapist."

Dean spat blood in his face.

Lucifer didn't even flinch. His smile just shaped itself into a furious grimace. "You shouldn't have done that." He pulled his fist back –

And another hand caught it mid-air.

"Dean," Cas barked, "this is a dream!"

Dean's head spun. How had he… He looked and saw that Cas was indeed still moaning on the floor. And yet, there was another Cas, standing here and restraining _Satan_.

Cas's words started to make sense.

Lucifer's hand slowly came unclenched. "Dream or not, I can still destroy you, Dean," he growled. "I'm a seed in your psyche, and you can't uproot me."

"He's not real, Dean." Cas twisted Lucifer's arm behind him, forcing him to double over. "Now take us to the Roadhouse."

Dean tried to accept that he was dreaming, but some part of him still clung to this dank hallway. He was still pinned to the wall, immobile, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Then Cas reached out with two fingers, and it all fell into place.

The Roadhouse.

It was just him and Cas, alone. No Sam, no Lucifer, no Ash or Ellen or Jo.

Cas picked up a pool ball off a nearby table and studied it idly. "You have an impressive attention to detail."

"Thanks." Dean stood awkwardly, uncertain of what to say. "For the other thing, too. And… I'm really sorry. About… everything."

Cas nodded and replaced the pool ball.

"So… it's been awhile," Dean tried.

Cas turned a steady unblinking gaze on him. "You're wondering why I returned."

Dean chuckled nervously. Damn. He'd forgotten how blunt Cas could be. He'd also forgotten how electric the air got when he was around, a constant static in the atmosphere that made his skin buzz.

Cas sighed, sounding oddly human. "I apologize. I was watching your dream, and… I couldn't continue to watch that happen." He turned away from Dean slightly and ran his hand along the green felt of the pool table.

"Hey, don't apologize," Dean assured him. "I'm glad that you – see, I've been trying to get a hold of you, but since you guys aren't using the good old Bible-Thumper Hotline anymore…" He stuffed his hands into his pockets and ducked his head, suddenly self-conscious. "Well, there's a reason I was looking for you in my sleep, Cas."

Cas didn't respond at all, just pressed his fingertips harder into the green felt.

Then Dean's hand was over his, and their bodies mere inches apart. Dean trailed his fingers along Cas's abdomen, interested by the way his muscles felt under the thin fabric. The self-consciousness of a moment before had given way to a deep-seated desire to be closer to Cas, to touch and feel and explore him. "There's a lot I should tell you…" he murmured.

Cas flinched slightly, and pulled his hand out from under Dean's. He swayed backwards just a little, as if he meant to distance himself but wasn't quite able to.

Shit.

"I shouldn't have come here," Cas muttered. "It was… unwise."

"I'm not at Lisa's," Dean blurted, grabbing Cas's arm like he could physically keep him from leaving. "I – I'm not staying at Lisa's anymore."

Cas's eyes rose to his, something like wariness in them. "Because I found you?"

Dean chuckled softly and shook his head. "I'd say it's more like I finally found myself." And he leaned into Cas, his mouth just a hot breath away from Cas's, waiting for some kind of green light. "I know what I want now," he whispered. "I know _who_ I want now."

Cas murmured softly, Dean feeling his words as much as hearing them. "Does this mean –"

"Yeah," Dean breathed.

"And you want – "

"Yeah."

"Even though we – "

"Cas." Dean pulled back a little, just enough to look into his eyes. "I fucked up, okay? Right from the start. Every time I said no was a fucking mistake. So from now on, the answer is yes. Whatever you want, the answer is yes."

The corner of Cas's lips tugged upward. "Then stop talking."

"Absolutely." And Dean leaned forward that last breath of space and caught Cas's mouth in searing kiss.

_The answer is yes. _


End file.
